


If I Never Knew You

by numphet



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Padmé Amidala, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Visions, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Padmé Amidala, Lightsaber Battles, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Relationship, Sith Anakin Skywalker, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22154761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/numphet/pseuds/numphet
Summary: Padmé Naberrie is a promising young Padawan, ready and eager to face the Trials and become a Jedi Knight. Anakin Skywalker, on the other hand, was never accepted to the Order. Far from home, alone and rejected, he fell straight into Darth Sidious’s clutches and eventually became his Sith apprentice.Their destinies intertwine as Padmé and her Master are sent to Naboo to oversee the peace negotiations between the Royal House of Naboo and the Trade Federation. Unbeknownst to them, Sidious orders his own apprentice to ensure said negotiations will backfire… and to assassinate the Jedi.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 132
Kudos: 177





	1. The Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm a fool and have no self-preservation instinct, I decided to start writing yet another Anidala longfic. Yes, this is going to be long. How long? I honestly have no idea. I have an outline, but I won't let it fool me into believing I won't come up with all kinds of additional nonsense this time around. All I can tell about this is that the work title for this fic was "JediCode.exe has stopped working" and I was *this* close to use it as an actual title instead of ripping off a Disney song. 
> 
> The prologue chapter takes place some time after the events of The Phantom Menace, and the first actual chapter will pick up right where Attack of the Clones starts. But since this story is an AU, things are nowhere close to be canon compliant. The prologue is from Palpatine's POV, but the rest of the story will be from Padmé and/or Anakin's POV. 
> 
> Oh, and please remember to tread carefully and heed the tags. Palpatine is such a d*ck in this story (hence the Child Abuse tag). I'll try and remember to update the tags accordingly.

Standing on the balcony of his personal suite at 500 Republica, the newly appointed Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine—secretly Darth Sidious—marveled at the Coruscant sunset. Not today, perhaps not even tomorrow, but one day, everything within his sight would belong to him and him alone. A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Once again, everything had gone according to his plan: Queen Raemonia had ultimately agreed to sign the treaty and Naboo had fallen smoothly into the hands of the Trade Federation, the old, inept fool Valorum had been voted out of office in Palpatine’s favor, and the Jedi ranks had grown thinner by Qui-Gon Jinn’s death in the hands of Palpatine’s apprentice.

Unfortunately, Jinn’s own apprentice had managed to escape. He’d lived to tell the story about what had transpired on Tatooine to the Jedi Council. For Darth Maul’s failure to eliminate them both, Palpatine had punished him accordingly. Had he not foreseen that his unrefined, unworthy apprentice hadn’t quite yet outlived his usefulness, he’d have had him killed for committing such an amateurish mistake. Maul should have been more patient and wait for the perfect moment to strike, but his flawed approach and sheer overeagerness for revenge had cost Palpatine the element of surprise. 

But despite his shortcomings, Maul had proven himself a useful tool. Crude, and ultimately expendable, but useful all the same. Yet unbeknownst to Maul, Palpatine already had his hands on the perfect replacement for the Zabrak. For all victories that had transpired the past few weeks, the most delicious one had been served by none other than the Jedi themselves. It’d been the Jedi who had discovered the ultimate prize: Anakin Skywalker, a mere slave boy from a desert planet—and, supposedly, the Chosen One. And yet, in their fear and blind arrogance, they’d allowed the boy to slip through their fingers. Ironic.

To Palpatine, the Jedi Council’s refusal to train the boy had been a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one. Had Jinn lived, perhaps he might have been able to sway the Council’s opinion, but his young apprentice, apparently, didn’t command the same respect as his late mentor. Claiming the boy was too old for training, the Jedi Council had unanimously elected to cast him aside. As sending the boy back to slavery had been out of the question, they’d gotten rid of him by dropping him off into a relatively respectable orphanage in Coruscant’s underbelly.

Palpatine could scarcely conceal his triumphant grin as he mused over the way the Jedi had all but signed their own death warrant by leaving such a generous gift on his doorstep. Instead of being bound to invest the better part of the next decade in subtly prying the boy away from their grasp and turning him against those who would’ve become his friends and trusted mentors, all he’d had to do was open his arms and have the boy fall into his lap like a ripe plum. 

Although he’d certainly have preferred the Jedi to do the legwork for him. Raising and training a child wasn’t only a time-consuming but also vastly tedious task that wouldn’t have been worthy of his time under any other circumstances. He’d been content with leaving young Maul in the care of mere droids, but the prize he had in his hands now was too precious not to handle with utmost care. His current apprentice he’d molded to serve his needs with fear and force and immense pain—blunt and straightforward methods, fitting for forging a blunt and straightforward tool—but he’d already figured out that getting most out of his future apprentice would require much more delicate approach. 

To keep his prize hidden from the scrutiny of his colleagues in the Senate, he’d taken advantage of his more dubious contacts and rented a shoddy hovel from the lower levels, far below the spacious, sunbathed streets of the Senate District. No living soul would be allowed to discover the boy’s existence, not until the time would be ripe for setting the next stage of his plans in motion. The Jedi Council had been informed that a wealthy off-world family had adopted the boy and taken him away, and Palpatine preferred them to remain under that impression—for now. As one day in the not-so-distant future, he’d make sure that before the end, the Jedi would learn they’d been the ones to bestow the Sith with the means to finally wipe their filth off the face of the galaxy.

Much to his glee, the Jedi had already saved a lot of time for him by planting the seed of bitterness and resentment inside the boy by plucking him away from his mother’s loving arms and bringing him into a foreign world, only to reject him and send him away. Manipulating children was ridiculously easy as it was, but with the Jedi laying such a magnificent groundwork for him, all that was required of him was tend the fire that had already been set in the boy’s young, so very vulnerable heart.

The boy cried for his mother at night. It was only natural for a child of his age, Palpatine supposed, and yet it was already getting rather tiresome. Some nights, he’d gladly let the boy cry to reinforce the idea that no one was coming for him. He’d done some research and found out that the boy’s mother remained a slave for a Toydarian junk dealer on Tatooine. Freeing her and bringing her to Coruscant to take care of the boy’s basic needs would’ve required nothing but perhaps a holocall or two, but no such thing would fit into Palpatine’s plans for his prize. The sooner the boy would forget that he’d ever had a mother, or a home, or a name, the better.

Oh, Palpatine had already picked a perfect new name for the boy. A proper Sith name.

Not that Palpatine had wasted time with commencing his future apprentice’s training, either. In his most delightful eagerness to please, the boy had turned out to be a swift learner. Soon, perhaps within a year or two, Palpatine would have the boy start sparring with Maul, and in time, the boy would either have to kill Maul or be killed. Obviously, Maul would still be much faster and stronger and more experienced than the boy, but if he truly was the Chosen One of the Jedi prophecy, he’d find a way to pull through.

And if he wouldn’t, his death would be a matter of insignificance. 

It was then that his door phone chimed. Lacing his fingers together behind his back, Palpatine returned inside, mentally preparing himself to react accordingly to the news that wouldn’t contain anything he didn’t already know or hadn’t orchestrated by himself.

“Your Excellency.” A porter droid’s mechanical, modulated voice came from the speakers. “Jedi Master Mace Windu is here to see you. Shall I send him in?”

“Please do.”

Palpatine had hoped Master Yoda would’ve come himself to deliver the ah-so-surprising news of the return of the dreadful Sith. Surrounded by a certain aura of haughty arrogance, Yoda had turned out to be relatively easy to handle. Yet dealing with the indomitable Mace Windu, who seemed to be immune to even the subtlest kind of flattery, would require a slightly different approach. Palpatine made a mental note to tone down the theatrics, as long faces and woefulness wouldn’t work with Windu, who would’ve made an excellent Sith.

Of course, Palpatine wouldn’t have even dreamed of attempting to turn someone as unyielding as him. No, he most certainly preferred to work with softer, more deformable materials.

Before long, Master Windu stepped out of the turbolift, wearing a grim expression. In his wake followed a young girl, obviously a Jedi apprentice. “Supreme Chancellor,” he greeted. “You must pardon me for interrupting your off-duty hours, but I’m afraid my business is urgent and can’t be postponed until the morning.”

Palpatine gestured his guests to take a seat on the plush red sofas in the lounge. “It has already occurred to me that the Supreme Chancellor knows no such thing as off-duty hours,” he said pleasantly. “You and I are the same in many ways, Master Jedi. Now, perhaps I might offer you and your young friend some refreshments? I happened to find myself in possession of a bottle of excellent Alderaanian vintage.”

But just as Palpatine had expected, Windu waved off his offer of drinks. “With all due respect, Chancellor, we must decline,” he rumbled. “Master Yoda sent me here with dire news.”

Careful not to overdo it, Palpatine conjured up a concerned expression. “Dire news seem to follow one another in these days,” he sighed as he slumped into his favored armchair. “Please, Master Jedi, do not keep me in suspense.”

“We have concluded our investigation into the assault that led to the death of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn,” Windu said in a matter-of-fact tone. “The Council agrees that the assassin had to be a Sith Lord.”

Palpatine gasped softly. “A Sith Lord? First, the Naboo Crisis, and now this.” He began to gently rub his temples. “This is awful news indeed. I beg you, Master Jedi, tell me that you have already discovered the identity of this vile assassin. For such a terrible crime, the culprit must be found and brought to justice in the first instance.”

“Not yet.”

“I wonder… Could it be possible that you have been mistaken, then?” Palpatine cocked a doubtful brow. “Surely, the Jedi would have known if the Sith were to return.”

“We have an eyewitness. Qui-Gon’s Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, saw the battle,” Windu said. If the doubt Palpatine had cast on the Jedi Order’s efficiency had bothered him, he didn’t let it show. “Young Kenobi claims the assassin was a male Zabrak, red-skinned and covered in strange tattoos. He wielded a double-bladed lightsaber and was unmistakably well trained in the ways of the Force.”

Palpatine rose from his seat and walked to the window. “It must be true, then,” he muttered, his voice strained with feigned distress. “A Sith Lord, of all things…” He turned back to his guests. “Of course, I have faith that the Jedi Order will exterminate this threat to our peace and prosperity in no time.”

“I assure you, Chancellor, the Jedi will do everything in our power to unravel this mystery,” Windu said confidently. “There are always two. We are yet to discover which one this assassin is—the master or the apprentice—but, in either case, as soon as we find him, we know his counterpart can’t be too far away.”

As amusing as it was to have Master Windu lecture him about the ways of the Sith, Palpatine kept his face expressionless, aside from the slightest, practically imperceptible curl of his lip. “Perhaps it isn’t my place to ask, but I’m afraid I’ll have to. How is young Kenobi holding up in the middle of all this?” he inquired. “To have to witness such a cruel tragedy… to experience such a deep personal loss. Pardon me, Master Jedi, for prying into your affairs, but I simply can’t help but worry for our young friend’s wellbeing.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi has been promoted to a fully-fledged Jedi Knight. He’s hardly a child anymore,” Windu retorted. “He’s shocked but unharmed. As his final act, Qui-Gon presumably saved his life by jamming the landing ramp of their cruiser and preventing him from joining the fray. He’ll be fine.”

“And how about you, my dear?” Palpatine shifted his attention to the short, slender girl who remained silent alongside Windu. Her puffy eyes and shaky demeanor gave off the impression that she wasn’t handling the recent events all that well. “I believe we haven’t been introduced yet.”

The girl flinched at being addressed so abruptly by her superior. “Padmé, she managed. “Padmé Naberrie, Your Excellency.”

Windu placed a protective hand on her shoulder. “Padmé is my new Padawan learner.”

Palpatine gave Padmé his most charming smile. “The youth indeed is the future of our society,” he said, subtly evaluating her as he spoke. She couldn’t be much older than the boy he’d chosen for his future apprentice, a few years at most. “Well, Padmé, would you allow me to ask how you feel about these recent, most unfortunate events?”

He wouldn’t have needed to ask, as the sense of her tension and agony were nearly tangible in the Force. Even after such a short acquaintance, he could already tell that her control over her emotions left much to be desired—by Jedi standards, of course. He sensed that something about his presence made the girl uncomfortable, almost as if she’d discerned that something was off, even though she clearly couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Such a curious case, this poor, sensitive child.

Padmé shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other. “Obi-Wan is my friend,” she said. “I feel for his loss, and… I’m afraid, Your Excellency.”

“Of course you are,” Palpatine said in his most understanding tone, adding some deliberate warmth to it. “It’s only natural—or do the Jedi teach otherwise? Pardon me for my ignorance, for I am not too familiar with your peculiar ways.”

“We do not teach our young to steer clear of emotion, no,” Windu corrected. “We merely teach them to always remain mindful of their feelings. To be afraid is one thing, allowing fear to cloud one’s judgment is another. Fear lives inside every living being. It’s our preconceptions that can easily lead us astray if we let them, but the Force never does. For a Jedi, the Force is an everlasting beacon of light. That’s why we look into the Force for guidance.” He glanced down at his Padawan. “Young Padmé here has still much to learn about mindfulness.”

For a moment there, Palpatine let his gaze linger on Padmé’s eyes before turning back to Windu. “Ah, I see. Thank you for lending me your insight, Master Jedi,” he said. “Although, I do hope you aren’t too harsh on your young apprentice. Is she not only at the beginning of her journey to become a Jedi Knight? I am confident that this fine young lady will become adept at your ways in no time.”

Windu gave him a bleak stare. “So am I.” Palpatine could hear his voice deepening in mild annoyance. “This is why I chose her.”

Palpatine tapped his fingertips together. “Of course,” he said, conciliatory. As entertaining as prodding further into the girl’s weak points might have been, he was no fool. He knew when to stop. There was absolutely nothing to be gained from antagonizing Master Windu. “I wouldn’t dare to question your judgment, Master Jedi.”

As expected, Windu let what he likely interpreted as mere inconsideration slide. “The Council would prefer our discussion to remain confidential for the time being,” he said. To Palpatine, it was crystal clear that that the Jedi Master wanted nothing more than to conclude his business here and take his leave. “The less the Sith know that we know, the better. Master Yoda believes that alerting the Senate at this point would be… untimely.”

“Yes, yes… It would be foolish of us not to heed Master Yoda’s wisdom and advice in such a crucial matter,” Palpatine said. “As the Supreme Chancellor, I will gladly put my trust in the Jedi Order’s ability to put an end to this threat. I will see that the Senate will continue directing its undivided attention to resolving the conflict between Naboo and the Trade Federation. I must say, I had hoped my predecessor would have had the courage to interfere before the matters got out of hand.”

“Supreme Chancellor,” Padmé began, hesitantly. “Before being elected as Chancellor, you represented Naboo in the Senate, didn’t you?”

“Why, yes, my dear girl,” Palpatine replied. “I see you are quite well educated in politics. I was indeed born and raised on Naboo, which perhaps is part of the reason why this crisis troubles me in such a personal manner. You must understand, I was never one to seek power, but I could no longer stand by in silence as more and more people suffer, either.”

“And yet they continue suffering under the Trade Federation’s ire while you discuss this invasion in a committee… Your Excellency, is there truly nothing more you could do to help them out?” Padmé asked, earning a meaningful glare from her Master. “With all due respect, of course.”

Palpatine tilted his head, giving the girl a sympathetic smile. “Oh, I wish there were,” he said, “but, for the sake of democracy, even the Supreme Chancellor’s power has its limits. This crisis is an unfortunate, yet complicated political matter, and resolving it will require both time and patience—and a delicate hand. Surely, you would understand this if you were a politician yourself, my dear.”

“I apologize on behalf of my Padawan,” Windu said. “She is still a little rough around the edges.”

Palpatine held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “There is absolutely no need for an apology,” he said before shifting his attention back to Padmé. “Tell me, my dear, have you ever been to Naboo?”

Padmé shook her head. “No, Your Excellency,” she replied. “I’ve been told I was born on Naboo, but I’ve never been there since I was found and brought to the Jedi Temple. I have no memories of what once was my home. Perhaps you could tell me something about your… our homeworld?”

“Ah, _Naberrie_. Of course, I should have recognized the name sooner,” Palpatine said. “Well, let’s see… Would it be biased of me to say that Naboo truly is the jewel of the Mid Rim? Perhaps it would, but it’s true, nevertheless. The culture, the beauty of nature… the architecture, especially, is unparalleled. Mere words will hardly do justice to it. Perhaps, with a little luck, one day your path will take you there.”

Padmé gave him a shy smile. “I hope it does.”

It was then that Windu rose from his seat and gestured his apprentice to follow his example. “I believe it’s time for us to be on our way,” he rumbled. “I thank you for receiving us, Chancellor. Come now, Padmé.”

There was something about Windu that made Palpatine cautious. A persisting premonition of danger and disaster. “Any time, Master Windu,” he muttered. “Any time.”

With his hands clasped in front of him, Palpatine watched as his Jedi visitors took their leave. Master Windu’s modest robes billowed behind his back as he strode into the turbolift. Padmé had to flounce after her Master to keep up with him so the doors wouldn’t slide shut between them. As soon as they were gone, a self-satisfied grin spread across Palpatine’s face. Much to his delight, Master Windu’s report had confirmed that Maul’s failure had caused nothing but a minor setback to his plans—a setback he’d turn into an advantage at his earliest convenience.

Now, the Jedi would undoubtedly waste their time and resources in finding Maul, but little did they know that Maul’s—and the Jedi Order’s—days were already numbered.

As soon as the sun had safely set behind the endless arrays of skyscrapers, Palpatine disguised himself and left his luxurious apartment. He took a long walk before hailing an air taxi, only to hop off after a short trip and hail another. After repeating these precautionary steps for a few times, he finally sought an illicit taxi driver to take him to his final destination on Level 1803.

As the most despicable neighborhood Palpatine could possibly imagine, Level 1803 was such a perfect place to hide something valuable. The Jedi generally considered themselves above chasing mere swindlers and speakeasy cantina owners, and there was no much else to see on Level 1803.

After paying his driver for the trip, he strode through the seemingly endless maze of crowded streets and meandering alleyways before entering one of the most appalling apartment complexes lining the district. Nearly every transperisteel window had been broken by local squatters, and Palpatine could hear meer rats squeaking and scampering in the walls but paid no heed to it as he took the stairs—whoever owned the building hadn’t bothered to repair the broken turbolift—to the seventh floor.

No, it was no place for children, and that was exactly what made it such a fitting place for training a Sith apprentice. Perhaps Maul had been even younger when Palpatine had sent him away to be trained in a proper training facility on Mustafar, but he preferred to keep the boy close for the time being. In years to come, he’d give the boy an entire planet, perhaps an entire system, to work his frustrations on, but for now, this disgusting little hovel was perfect for his purposes.

Smiling complacently to himself, he opened the door and entered the pitch-dark apartment. He always turned the electricity off whenever he left and turned it back on when he came back to visit the boy. As usual, he found the boy sitting on the floor, nestling up against the wall in the farthest corner of the room, his small shoulders trembling and eyes red and sore from crying.

The boy leaped to his feet. “Master,” he choked out, his teeth chattering from cold. “You came back.”

“But of course I did, my dear boy,” Palpatine said. It pleased him greatly how easily the boy had accepted a new master. Perhaps it was expected, due to the boy’s background. “Why, did you think I wouldn’t come back?”

The boy hesitated. “I hoped you would.”

Palpatine glanced down at the floor where the boy’s brand new training saber rested against the wall. “Did you do what I told you and practice your combat techniques in the way showed you? Fifty repetitions of each set, if I recall correctly.”

The boy’s face lit up. “Yes, Master!” he said proudly. “I did a hundred.”

Palpatine cocked a brow. “Well done,” he praised. Indeed, the boy was pleasantly eager to please; to make himself useful, likely so he wouldn’t be cast aside yet again and end up in the streets. “Why don’t you show me? And then, we shall eat.”

He’d seldom shared meals with Maul, but then again, if the wretched Jedi prophecy would hold true, Maul had nothing on this boy. Whereas Maul was a crude tool, this boy would become an ultimate weapon, sleek and shiny and deadly efficient. Maul’s indebtedness, let alone his friendship, had no use for Palpatine, but if this boy would truly grow strong enough to restore the balance to the Force, Palpatine would have to ensure the boy wouldn’t turn on him in years to come.

Of course, Palpatine wouldn’t repeat his late Master’s mistake and teach his apprentice everything he knew, no. But if, regardless of the remarkable extent of the precautions, the boy were destined to eventually surpass him in power, at least he’d make sure that the boy would know no other love than his. So the boy would grow to believe that neither the Jedi nor his own mother wanted him; that no living soul, aside from his Master, would ever care about him.

Much to his delight, Palpatine noticed that despite his exhaustion due to doubling his practice earlier in the day, the boy was absolutely dreading to disappoint him. The boy was already sweating and shaking from overexertion, and yet it didn’t stop him from making each repetition flawless.

Finally, Palpatine said, “Good, good. I must say, I am most pleased with your progress, my boy. Come now, let us eat something.”

The boy’s face was flushed, his skin was glistening with sweat, and his tousled hair was sticking to his forehead. “T-t-thank you, Master,” he managed.

Palpatine offered the boy some of the food he’d brought with him from his apartment. He didn’t trust the vendors of the lower levels enough to buy even a ration bar from their filthy joints, let alone anything proper and nutritious. “For tomorrow, I expect you to indulge in meditation,” he said as he took a seat, watching as the boy devoured his dinner, “and then, I have another task for you.”

The boy stopped eating and glanced up at him. “Another task, Master?”

“I will have something delivered to you in the morning,” Palpatine explained. “A broken droid. An R2 unit, to be more specific. I believe it got damaged during the Naboo Crisis. Perhaps you would like to try your hand in repairing it?”

At first, the boy’s lip into a smile, but just as Palpatine had anticipated, his face soon fell as a painful memory struck him. “Sure, I can fix a droid. I can fix anything. Once, I even built a droid from spare parts and scrap metal,” he said. Palpatine could scarcely conceal his satisfaction as the boy lowered his gaze to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. “It was a gift for my mom. I miss her.”

Palpatine clasped his hands together. “But of course you do, my dear boy.”

“I-I just don’t understand, Master,” the boy all but sobbed. “You told me the Jedi are evil. Why would my mom send me away with evil people?”

“Perhaps your mom didn’t know they were evil people,” Palpatine suggested innocuously. “The Jedi are, after all, known to be devious in their ways. I assure you, they will do anything to achieve their ends… Or perhaps you simply had become a great burden to your poor mother. Perhaps she was secretly relieved when the Jedi arrived and offered to take you with them.”

The boy shot him an offended look. “My mom loves me,” he protested. “I’m sure she would come here to live with us if we only could go back and pick her up, Master. I’m sure Watto wouldn’t mind if you pay him.”

“By all means correct me if I’m wrong, my dear boy, but didn’t you tell me that you have no father?” Palpatine said cunningly. He waited until the boy gave him a cautious nod before continuing, “Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps your mother never wanted you in the first place?”

The boy’s lower lip trembled, and he fell silent. Palpatine was perfectly aware that the boy wouldn’t believe his words today, perhaps not even tomorrow, and that he’d resent him for that, but one of these days, the boy would be thanking him for being the only person who’d ever been honest with him.

“I thought as much,” Palpatine said softly. He lifted the boy’s chin so their gazes met. “Crying will not help you. Tears will not bring your mother back. But I am here, and I will help you. I will make you strong, as I promised. Don't you want to become strong?”

“I-I know, Master,” the boy hurried to say. “Yes, Master.”

Palpatine rose from his creaking seat. “Good,” he said, preparing to take his leave. “Today, I will not be staying for the night.” He paused to savor the sensation of the boy’s rapidly increasing anxiety in the Force. “Do not weep, my dear boy. Get some rest and keep practicing. Together, we will achieve great things.”

_Sooner than you think, you shall have your revenge_...

_...I shall have my revenge._


	2. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let us meet Padmé and Anakin, or should we say Lord Vader, as soon-to-be horny teenag... I mean, responsible and functional young adults.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to finish this first actual chapter a little faster, but unfortunately my keyboard broke, which kinda slowed me down. :(

“Very good, Padmé,” Master Depa Billaba said calmly, but not without flashing her an appreciative smile in the midst of their intense training session. “Now, I would very much like to see your Form III, if you will.”

Padmé wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and returned the smile. Her heart fluttered at the praise from such a renowned duelist, and a member of the Jedi High Council, no less. It never ceased to amaze her how, even after all those years, Master Billaba was still inclined to momentarily set her Council duties aside in favor of helping her to hone her lightsaber techniques.

It’d originally been her own Master who had introduced her to Master Billaba and initiated their training session a few years ago when she’d felt stuck and grown frustrated over her lack of progress. Master Windu had suggested his former apprentice to take over and oversee her training for a while, claiming that some inner conflicts that were best resolved through assuming a different perspective. As usual, Master Windu had been right. Training with Master Billaba had turned out to be immensely helpful, and besides, they'd even developed a connection of sorts and become friends in the process, despite the years between them.

Shifting into the opening stance, Padmé positioned her dominant foot back and lifted her blue-white blade at her head height. She braced herself to fend off Master Billaba’s refined strokes. Even though Master Windu had trained Master Billaba, the difference between their approaches to lightsaber combat was like that between night and day. There was something harmonious about Master Billaba’s methodical search for weak points in her opponent’s defenses in comparison to Master Windu’s more aggressive, almost overwhelming approach.

Master Billaba kept testing her defenses with elegant, yet keen precision. Even though Padmé had become familiar with Master Billaba’s techniques and her peculiar way of thinking after hundreds of hours spent together in the training dojo, the older and more experienced Jedi still succeeded in surprising her more often—and more effortlessly—than she would have preferred. Once again, Master Billaba’s swift, nearly imperceptible shift between different forms caused Padmé to lose her footing and knocked her off balance. She should have known what was coming by now. She’d been taught to counter such a feint a long time ago.

Not knowing what to do wasn’t the issue. It hadn’t been the issue the last time, or the time before that, either.

It was that she felt like she'd lost her ability to find her center and stay focused in present for good. 

With her defensive stance pried open, Master Billaba didn’t hesitate to lunge forward and disarm her with a graceful flick of her wrist. Padmé’s lightsaber flew through the air and landed in the other Jedi’s hand.

Master Billaba handed the lightsaber back to Padmé. “You did well today,” she said. “You have come far since we started training together.”

Padmé clipped her lightsaber back to her belt and bowed. Master Billaba wasn’t wrong, she supposed. The first half of the session had gone well, but then she had drifted off and lost her focus—again. “Not far enough,” she muttered as all she could think of was Master Windu’s disappointed expression, had he been on the observation balcony watching her fumbling around like a youngling.

Master Billaba cocked a mildly curious brow. “Something is troubling you.” She began her stretching routine and gestured Padmé to follow her example. “Perhaps you would like to discuss it?”

Nervously, Padmé tucked her stray Padawan braid behind her ear and said nothing. Even though she considered Master Billaba as someone she could trust, she found herself reluctant, to say the least, to tell a Council member, of all people, about the recurring nightmares that had been plaguing her sleep for weeks. Not even Master Windu knew.

It was always the same nightmare, over and over again. The Republic was no more. The Jedi Temple was ablaze, and her friends—the only family she’d ever known—had been butchered in cold blood. Their bodies were littering the Great Hall, and not even the younglings had been spared from the carnage. Grief-stricken and devastated by the destruction of her home, she was searching for survivors from amidst smoke and smoldering debris, but there was none to be found. Everyone was dead.

Every night, she rushed through the ruined hallways, trying to make her way up to the Council Chamber, as even asleep, she figured that if there were any survivors to be found, they would be there—but no. The Council Chamber was always empty apart from a hooded stranger in pitch-black robes standing alone amidst the knocked over seats and thousands and thousands of transparisteel shards from the broken windows.

And every night, she reached out for the stranger, desperate to see the face of the traitor behind such mindless destruction. Her voice echoed from the walls and the ceiling as she heard herself demanding the stranger to show their face.

As the hooded figure complied and slowly lowered their hood, Padmé was, much to her dismay, no longer staring at a stranger.

She was staring at _herself_.

Except for her dream twin was unnaturally pale and sickly-looking with her face marbled with broken blood vessels, and instead of Padmé’s own brown eyes, her dark counterpart’s eyes gleamed golden in the dim lighting. Appalled by the sight, Padmé tried to scream, to cry for help, but no words came out of her mouth. She tried to reach out to her dream twin, desperately trying to understand why _she_ would commit such atrocities against _her_ own people. But instead of providing her with the answers she was seeking, her dream twin’s plump, scarlet lips twisted into the cruelest smirk Padmé had ever seen. All she could do was watch helplessly as her dream twin burst into shrill laughter, crumbled into dust and vanish in thin air.

In her dark counterpart’s wake came the former, now dead Council members. Looking ghoulish and ghost-like with their waxy skin and empty white eyes, they emerged from the shadows and swiftly surrounded her. 

It always happened in the same way. Master Yoda pointed his gimer stick at her. “ _Your doing, this disaster is._ ”

“ _So this is how you chose to repay our faith in you._ ” All warmth and serene gentleness was gone from Master Billaba’s voice. “ _You were like a little sister to me._ ”

Master Windu stepped forward and looked down at her with a piercing glare. “ _Now I realize I should never have taken you as my Padawan learner_ ,” he rumbled. “ _You were a mistake_.”

“ _Look around, traitor_ ,” Master Adi Gallia urged, gesturing around the disarrayed room. “ _This is your fault_.”

They all pointed their fingers at her and started chanting in unison, “ _This is your fault. This is your fault. This is your fault_.”

It was only then that she was jolted back to the present. She glanced cautiously at Master Billaba from under her brow as she clumsily began her own stretching routine. Much to her relief, the Jedi Master didn’t seem to be bothered by the sudden silence at all. Accustomed to the ways of the Jedi, Padmé knew that she could always politely refuse to talk about her nightly terrors, or simply claim it was nothing, and Master Billaba wouldn’t press the matter further.

Perhaps that was exactly where the problem lied. Perhaps she wanted someone to press further. Someone who would care about her as a person first, and a Jedi second. There was part of her, hidden deep inside, that secretly resented the discouragement of attachment and yearned for deeper, more intense connection than could ever come to be between her and her Jedi friends and mentors. Sometimes she even caught herself wondering what it’d be like, to be able to open her heart and be met with caring and compassion, not distance and detachment.

And yet she was a Jedi, and she knew her exactly what was expected of her. And what she also knew was that only younglings had nightmares, and she hadn’t been a youngling in a long time. It was just a dream, and dreams came and went. She was well aware of how very un-Jedi-like it’d have been to cling to them. Besides, she wasn’t about to have both of her mentors worry about—or worse, _doubt_ —her now that she was so close to finally becoming a fully-fledged Jedi Knight.

So the best she could do was try and forget it. “It’s nothing of importance, Master,” she finally said, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t quite feel.

Master Billaba gave a rare chuckle. “You do know that you can tell me if you’re having trouble with Mace,” she gently reminded her. “He’s not always the most lenient Master or the easiest to come along with. I haven’t forgotten my time as his Padawan learner. He could watch me practice with a training remote for hours without saying a word unless there was something about my form that needed to be corrected… and there was indeed a lot that needed to be corrected. There were times when I felt like all he ever saw in me were my mistakes, and it was only later that I understood the necessity. Without his guidance, I doubt I would be the Jedi I am now. I found my place in the universe, and I am confident that one day, you shall find yours.”

Padmé was aware that Masters Windu and Billaba had once been a Master and an apprentice, and that now they were equals—no, not just equals, but friends—who shared an indestructible bond of trust and mutual respect. And yet Master Billaba’s casual tone whenever she spoke of her former mentor never failed to take Padmé by surprise. She could hardly imagine herself ever being able to talk about Master Windu in such a laid-back manner. Would she truly deserve to be their equal one day? Would she truly train her own Padawan and be addressed as ‘Master Naberrie’?

Would she even be granted a seat in the Council in years to come, like her mentors?

Somehow, she doubted that. Even though she’d always worked hard and done the best she could, devoting her life to the ways of the Jedi and never truly faltering in her beliefs, she’d never been the strongest or the most sensitive to the Force among her peers. She seriously doubted that she’d ever command respect like Master Windu, or gently bless any space she happened to step in with the sheer serenity of her presence like Master Billaba. 

She weighed Master Billaba’s words, _I found my place in the universe, and I am confident that one day, you shall find yours_ , in her mind and could only hope that she was right. 

“No, I didn’t mean—I can hardly imagine a better mentor than Master Windu,” she said, modestly—and truthfully. The last thing she wanted was to give Master Billaba the impression that she didn’t appreciate everything her Master had done for her. She admired no other Jedi in the way she admired her Master. “He’s stronger and wiser than I could ever hope to become. It’s just—I wouldn’t want to turn out to be a disappointment for him.”

“Yes, that much seems obvious,” Master Billaba said calmly. “Mace may be stern and strict and certainly more demanding than most Masters, but perhaps it would set your young heart at ease if I told you that he also sees certain things others do not. He sees not only our hearts but also what lies beneath, and he wouldn’t have chosen you if he hadn’t known that you’re up to the task. He’s very proud of you, you should never doubt that.”

Since her recent nightmares begged to differ, Padmé found herself at a loss for words. Fortunately enough, their discussion was interrupted by the door hissing open. 

They both turned to the door. “Hello there.”

A delighted smile lit Padmé’s face as it occurred to her that such a crisp Coruscanti accent couldn’t possibly belong to anyone else than Obi-Wan Kenobi. With longer hair and a lot more beard, he looked different than the last time she’d seen him, but it was no wonder—he’d been gone on a mission for months.

“Welcome back, Obi-Wan. I was glad to hear that your mission was successful,” Master Billaba greeted him before turning back to Padmé. She gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “You two must have plenty to discuss, so I shall take my leave. Let us talk later. “

According to their peers as well as their mentors, Obi-Wan Kenobi was the perfect Jedi in every conceivable way. Had he not been such pleasant company, it would’ve been hard not to envy him a little. Padmé was proud to call him a friend. “It’s so good to see you again,” she said. “I missed you. How was Tython?”

“Cold, and rather uncomfortable, thank you for asking,” Obi-Wan quipped, his tone wry, but not unkind. “I assure you it’s nothing short of a miracle that I still have fingers.”

“You must tell me everything,” Padmé said, barely able to contain her excitement. As Master Windu’s Council duties often kept them both on Coruscant, she longed to hear stories from the farthest corners of the galaxy from the other Jedi. “Perhaps we could go and grab some lunch together?”

“Not this time, my friend,” Obi-Wan said apologetically. “There has been an assassination attempt in the Senate. The Council has sent me to investigate.”

Padmé’s eyes widened in alarm. “An assassination attempt?”

It was no secret that there had been unrest in the Senate since the Naboo Crisis, and the political turmoil caused by thousands of star systems seceding from the Republic and pledging loyalty to Count Dooku and the Confederacy of Independent Systems had only worsened the already flammable situation—but an assassination attempt? In the very heart of the Republic?

That couldn’t mean anything good. “Who?”

“Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan,” Obi-Wan replied. “He’s the acting leader of the opposition against the Military Creation Act. It appears that his vocal objections have earned him dangerous enemies both in and outside the Senate.”

“I shouldn’t keep you any longer then,” Padmé hurried to say. “The Senate needs more people like Senator Organa, not less. The Republic can’t afford to lose him.”

“Oh, I agree,” Obi-Wan said. “I may not always be too fond of politicians, but Senator Organa certainly does seem to have the people’s best interest at heart. I probably should be on my way. It was good to see you too, Padmé, but I didn’t stop by to exchange pleasantries. Master Yoda requests your presence in the Council Chamber.”

Padmé’s heart skipped a beat. Why in the stars would Master Yoda wish to see her? “Then I shouldn’t keep Master Yoda waiting, either,” she said, briefly pondering whether or not ask Obi-Wan if he knew why she’d been summoned but ultimately deciding against it. “You must promise to be careful, Obi-Wan. Dealing with assassins… I fear for your safety.”

“All that matters now is that we find these assassins before it’s too late,” Obi-Wan said, his tone serious. “May the Force be with you, my friend.”

On the spur of the moment, Padmé pulled her friend into a hug. There was no way to tell when they would see each other again. “May the Force be with you as well.”

Mere moments later, Padmé struggled not to let it show how uncomfortable she felt under the scrutiny of the Jedi Masters present. It had just occurred to her that she hadn’t been in the Council Chamber since she’d started to have nightmares, and much to her dismay, her fervent attempts not to think about those unfathomable accusations hurled at her by the very people around her were met with little success.

“You wished to see me, Master Yoda.”

“Hmm, yes. Yes, wished to see you, we did,” Master Yoda said. “Agreed to negotiate with Queen Jamillia, the Trade Federation finally has. A delegation to assist with these negotiations, the Senate has decided to send.”

Master Windu laced his fingers together and gave her a bleak stare. “The Trade Federation is corrupt and infamous for their deceptive ways,” he said grimly. “Chancellor Palpatine acknowledges this. He has personally requested for Jedi oversight and protection for the representatives.”

“Allow these negotiations to fail, we cannot. Too much at stake, there is. So send our best, we must. A Republic cruiser leaving for Naboo at nightfall, there will be,” Master Yoda mused, observing her closely. “Aboard that ship, you and your Master will be.”

Barely believing what she was hearing, Padmé looked quizzically at her Master, who gave her a stiff nod of reassurance. All her life, she’d hoped that one day, her path would take her to Naboo, of all places. She’d always been curious about that far away world in the Mid Rim that could have been her home, had the Force not decided otherwise.

Surely, Chancellor Palpatine would no longer remember her, but she’d clung to the memory of their short exchange of words all those years ago. She briefly wondered if the Chancellor would be amused if he ever were to learn that she’d finally get to see—as the Chancellor himself had once described it—the jewel of the Mid Rim. 

But then she felt it, a sudden flicker of uncertainty. Perhaps she should tell the Council about her nightmares, right here and now. Master Yoda had made it clear how crucial these negotiations were for the future of both Naboo and the Republic, and if even the Chancellor suspected the Trade Federation of foul play, then the Council needed to know if her ability to stay focused in present had been compromised before making the final decision of who to send for the mission. 

Almost as if Master Windu had sensed her self-doubt dripping into the Force, he spoke again, “Nute Gunray is nothing if not a coward.” He didn’t bother to conceal his contempt for the Trade Federation. “Our mere presence should be more than enough to distract him from his schemes.”

Master Yoda harrumphed and pounded the floor with his gimer stick. “One thing, Viceroy Gunray is,” he said, his tone ominously severe. “Yet dismissed so easily, the threat of the Sith should not be. Growing stronger by the day and clouding our vision, the Dark Side is. Need each other to succeed in this task, you will.”

“But Masters,” Padmé interjected before she could stop herself. “With all due respect, I don’t know if I’m ready—“

Master Windu and Yoda frowned at each other. Yoda’s ears twitched in what Padmé assumed was mild amusement. “Ready, you say?” he said. “Is one ever ready, hmm? Wait for others to determine your path for you, and elude you forever, it will. Only take you so far, the guidance of your elders can.”

Master Windu’s stern expression softened slightly. “But you are not alone, my young Padawan,” he reminded her. “With the Force, and me, by your side, you are never alone.” 

And so her halfhearted reluctance to finally see some action was eclipsed not only by Master Yoda’s wisdom and Master Windu’s preciously rare reassurance but also her own, unquenchable yearning to, as Master Billaba had so gracefully put, find her place in the universe. The Force might have put her on this path, but Master Yoda was right: it would be up to her to figure out where that path would lead her. Besides, there would be time to discuss her nightmares en route. 

“Is it decided, then?” Master Gallia put in.

“It is decided,” Master Windu concluded. “Go now and prepare yourself for the trip, Padmé. I will see you at nightfall.”

* * *

In the command center of a secret Sith training facility on the faraway planet of Mustafar, Darth Vader knelt before a holographic image of his Master. “What do you wish of me, my Master?”

A cowled hood shadowed Darth Sidious’s face, but even with the several parsecs between them, Vader could sense his Master’s thoughts—or fragments of them, anyway. Did Sidious allow his feelings to leak past his mental barriers on purpose, Vader couldn’t tell. He briefly considered the possibility that his powers might already have surpassed his Master’s. The false allure of the opportunities such a delightful occurrence would offer to him was indisputable, and yet he refused to give in to the temptation to believe it. He'd been there before, and he'd learned from his past endeavors. He was no fool. For all he knew, this was simply another way for his Master to test him.

His time would come, but not today. Sidious, too, knew this. He could feel the creeping sensation of his Master observing him and evaluating the level of threat he might have posed to his leadership. This was, as it had always been, the way of the Sith. Vader had learned it at a young age. 

Sidious gave a meaningful glance at the training droids reduced to little more than spare parts and scrap metal littered on the floor behind Vader’s back. “I see you have made yourself comfortable, my boy,” he said endearingly, but then continued in a more reprimanding tone, “Your overenthusiasm for destruction does you little credit.”

His gaze still fixed on the gleaming black floor, Vader scowled in frustration. “I’ll fix the droids,” he grunted. It was hardly his fault that his Master couldn't seem to be bothered to give him anything meaningful to do. 

“There will be no need for that,” Sidious said, a sinister glee spreading across his face. “I have an assignment for you, and I am quite certain that you will find it to your liking.”

Sidious’s words were more than enough to arouse Vader’s curiosity. “What is it, Master?”

“The Royal House of Naboo and our simplistic, yet useful friends in the Trade Federation have finally agreed to sit around the table and negotiate for peace,” Sidious explained. “I have appointed you to act as an advisor as well as a bodyguard for the Viceroy."

Vader scoffed. "That's it?" he snapped. "With all due respect, my Master, this is below me."

"Patience, my boy," Sidious urged. "You must understand that there can be no peace. Your first and most crucial task is to see that no agreement will be reached between the contentious parties.”

Swallowing a groan, Vader wondered what exactly about this assignment was supposed to be worthy of his attention. “And the second task is?”

“A Senate delegation has been formed to assist with the negotiations,” Sidious continued. “As per my personal request, the delegation will be under the protection of the Jedi Order. My sources have informed me that the Jedi Council has decided to send Master Windu and his—”

Something feral flared behind Vader’s golden eyes upon hearing that wretched name. It’d happened years ago, but Vader hadn’t forgotten. He couldn’t forget, perhaps not even if he wanted to. Instead, he’d stubbornly clung to the bitter memory of being rejected and cast aside like he’d been a mere piece of trash and not a living, feeling human being—a child, no less—at all. As years had blurred the details, he no longer remembered their names or even their faces, but he remembered the cold.

And he most certainly remembered the stern, grim-looking Jedi Master whose piercing stare had run through him—no, not _him_ , but that pathetic child that no longer existed—like a Star Destroyer, deeming him not good enough for their precious Jedi Order. “I’ll kill them,” he hissed from behind his clenched teeth. “I’ll kill them both.”

“No.”

Vader lifted his gaze from the floor to frown at his Master. “No?”

“Mace Windu would not only recognize you and foil our plans. He is also quite lethal with a lightsaber, I've heard. He is not to be underestimated,” Sidious warned him. “I will arrange that he will be forced to return to Coruscant before the negotiations may begin. Until then, you shall remain hidden from sight.”

“That’s unnecessary, Master,” Vader objected, not bothering to tone down his smugness. “I can take them both.”

Sidious chuckled darkly. “You are bold, aren’t you? And why wouldn’t you be? You are, after all, destined to become the most powerful being in the galaxy,” he drawled. “But you are not there yet, my dear boy. You are far from being ready to face a Jedi Master. I made that mistake with Darth Maul, and to what end? He allowed a mere apprentice to live to tell the story.”

“I killed Darth Maul,” Vader snarled. He certainly relished the memory of taking the life of the Zabrak who had tormented and ridiculed him for years, beating and bruising him as per his Master’s orders to kill the boy that had once lived inside him. The boy whose name no longer meant anything to him. That boy had been weak. He'd deseved to be forgotten. “He failed you, Master. He was weak. I am not.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Sidious said with a hint of something that almost but not quite resembled something genuine, perhaps gentleness. “But I assure you that for now, patience is our most powerful ally. Our dear, complacent Jedi friend’s time is not quite yet. His young apprentice, on the other hand… She has no use to me. I will make sure that she will remain to provide symbolic protection to the delegates. She will be yours to kill in whatever way you see fit. Consider this assignment as an appetizer, if you will. In time, you will get your chance to kill more Jedi than you could ever have dreamed of. All of them, in fact.” 

His Master’s generous promise set Vader’s blazing heart at temporary ease. Slowly, the knot in his stomach released and his fists unclenched on his sides. One day, every single one of those self-righteous fools would lie dead at his feet. One day, they would know the pain the child they’d rejected had once felt in his small chest. 

It’d be only a matter of time. He might just as well start his reign with someone as insignificant as an apprentice.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Artoo.” The only still functional droid in the room gave an acknowledging whistle. “Go prepare my ship and set course to Naboo.”

“Very good, Lord Vader,” Sidious murmured, pleased with his apprentice’s eagerness. “Be on your way, but be mindful of yourself. Do not let your pride get in the way of what must be done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this is going to be so ridiculous.


	3. Arriving Naboo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbeknownst to them, Padmé and young Vader prepare to say goodbye to life as they know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I never meant it take so long for me to update, but you know, life does its thing, stuff happen. Hopefully, I'll be faster with the next chapter!

At the moment the Republic consular ship _Felicific_ dropped out of hyperspace, Padmé came to realize that Chancellor Palpatine hadn’t exaggerated. Even from space, Naboo was breathtaking. It was perhaps the most beautiful world Padmé had ever seen, though, admittedly, she hadn’t seen too many due to spending the majority of her time as a Padawan learner on Coruscant.

Marveling at the scenery of emerald meadows, deep valleys, and lakes, she couldn’t help but wonder how different her life would have been had the Jedi not discovered her and taken her to Coruscant at a young age. The trip had been long and rather tedious, but instead of making good use of her free time and retreating into her quarters to meditate, as Master Windu had suggested, she had taken the liberty to indulge herself and study Naboo culture from her datapad.

She had thought that knowing the Naboo people, their customs and culture, could turn out to be useful in the negotiations to come, but instead of taking notes, she had found herself daydreaming about a vastly different way of life. She could barely begin to imagine what it would have been like to grow up on this charming little planet instead of a busy ecumenopolis such as Coruscant, but the thought certainly intrigued her.

How would she have even spent her days, had the Force put her on a different path? What could she have possibly found as fulfilling as waking up before her peers so she could have the meditation gardens all for herself for an entire hour or feeling the thrill of an intense sparring session in her every connection to the Force? Even though she couldn’t come up with anything particular, somehow she was certain that even in some another life she now would never know, she would have found an alternative way to serve the Republic and in that way contribute to maintaining peace and order in the galaxy.

There was something else, too. Something she wasn’t supposed to dwell on, and yet she couldn’t help herself. In that another life, she would have had known her birth family, and perhaps even have a small family of her own. According to all sources, embracing family life from a relatively young age was considered common on Naboo, after all. The thought of herself as a wife or a mother was something she had never considered before, not even briefly. Due to knowing no other life but the life of a Jedi, the very idea felt foreign to her, but, contrary to her expectations, it didn’t make her feel particularly uncomfortable.

But even then, it didn’t matter much. Personal feelings never did. One of these days, she would finally be made a Jedi Knight, and attachments were not to become obstacles between a Jedi Knight and her duty. Serving the Force was a great privilege on its own, and the Jedi were the only family she needed. There was nothing more she could have wanted. 

Despite her uncertainties, her insecurities, and the ominous nightmares occasionally haunting her sleep, she could fathom no reason for why she would ever as much as entertain the thought of walking away from such a harmonious way of life.

What in the stars could ever become so precious to her that she would willingly give away everything she had to pursue it?

She could imagine no such thing.

It was then that a heavily armed squadron of Trade Federation escort cruisers gathered around the _Felicific_ to guide the ship into the landing bay at Theed Spaceport. Padmé tore her gaze away from the viewport and let out a wistful sigh. Perhaps it had been unwise to dwell on such things in the first place. Neither lingering in the past nor pondering over the future was the Jedi way. Master Windu never wasted an opportunity to lecture her about the importance of staying in the present moment, and at this rate, she doubted he never would. 

If only it would have been as easy as he made it sound.

She left the cockpit and went to look for her Master, hoping that he wouldn’t immediately sense the restlessness that had stubbornly settled in the back of her mind. After checking his quarters and finding them empty, she found him in the comms room, along with a few Senate delegates. Gathered around a CS-Mark 12 holoprojector, they seemed to be discussing something presumably very important over a holocall with Master Yoda and Chancellor Palpatine.

Not wanting to interrupt her superiors by barging in, Padmé remained at the doorway. Yet Master Windu noticed her presence and gestured her to come in, placing a protective hand on her shoulder as she stepped closer and joined the circle. 

Master Yoda, on the other hand, barely acknowledged her. “Return to Coruscant immediately, you and your Padawan must.” His words were directed at Master Windu. “To get to the bottom of this disaster, as many Jedi Masters as possible, we need.”

Padmé gasped softly. “Disaster?” The word escaped her mouth before she could stop herself. “What happened?”

One of the delegates decided to indulge her curiosity. “There has been another attempt at Senator Organa’s life.” Padmé immediately recognized the speaker as Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila, who regularly appeared on the HoloNet as a commentator of galactic politics. “A bomb in his office.”

According to Obi-Wan, Senator Organa was one of the few senators who were genuinely interested in making the galaxy a better place. “Is the Senator—?”

“The Senator is all right,” Mon Mothma said. “Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about his protocol droid. The poor thing was the first to enter the room after the assassin.”

It was then that Master Windu’s deep voice drew Padmé’s attention back to the ongoing holocall. “We will return as soon as we’ll be able. I will speak with the captain to make the necessary arrangements,” he said before turning to Chancellor Palpatine. “My apologies, Chancellor. You will have to delay the negotiations. We cannot stay, not while our government is under direct attack from an unknown enemy.”

“Your Order’s devotion to protecting our senators is most admirable, Master Jedi, but I’m afraid delaying the negotiations might not be possible,” Palpatine said apologetically. “What kind of message would our retreat send not only to the Trade Federation but to all those systems we have pledged ourselves to protect? It would be unwise of us to allow Count Dooku and his allies to turn this unfortunate incident against us.”

“The Chancellor is right,” one of the delegates Padmé didn’t recognize cut in. “We cannot let Naboo turn into another tool of propaganda for Count Dooku.”

“I must agree with the Chancellor as well,” Mon Mothma said, though more cautiously than her fellow delegate. “Queen Jamillia counts on us to mediate the situation. The people of Naboo count on us. How could we turn our backs at them now? No, we must stay and provide what assistance we could to settle this crisis, with or without Jedi protection.”

Master Yoda leaned on his stick with both hands and squeezed his eyes shut. “Hmm. Tricky situation, this is. Guarantee your safety, we might no longer be able,” he murmured. “Safer to leave, it would be. But wrong, Senator Mothma is not. Crucial for the future of the Republic, these negotiations are. Hmm.”

The comms room fell silent as everyone was trying to figure out a satisfactory solution to the problem, but neither the Jedi nor the Senate delegates seemed to be able to come up with anything, hence the prolonged silence. How could it be that none of them realized that the solution, the perfect compromise, stood right amongst them? Padmé glanced at Master Yoda and then Master Windu, but they both seemed to be absorbed in their thoughts, neither of them even considering the option that had come crystal clear to her.

It was then that Chancellor Palpatine’s gaze caught hers. She blinked, barely believing her own eyes. Had the Chancellor just… subtly nodded at her? Or was she seeing things?

Either way, it was all the encouragement she needed. Before she could stop herself, she stepped forward and cleared her throat. “Masters, Senators, Chancellor,” she began as politely as she possibly could, uncomfortably aware of all the eyes fixed upon her. “With all due respect, may I speak freely?”

The Chancellor offered her an encouraging smile and said, “By all means, my dear girl.”

Padmé glanced over her shoulder, wordlessly asking Master Windu for reassurance. He gave her a rigid, barely perceptible nod.

“We all agree that both of these matters require our immediate attention, don’t we? Our democratic values, those we all have sworn to protect, are equally important on both Coruscant and Naboo. We shouldn’t be forced to choose between these causes,” Padmé said, her voice clear and suddenly tinged with both authority and compassion. She had no idea where this newfound confidence was stemming from, but it certainly took not only her but also everyone else in the room by surprise. “Please, don’t get me wrong, I’m not questioning the wisdom of Master Yoda’s request. All available Jedi Masters should return to Coruscant at their earliest convenience, but… I’m not a Jedi Master. I may not even be a Jedi Knight yet, but if you only allow me to stay and protect you to my best ability, I promise that I will do everything in my power to fulfill my duty to the Republic and see that the negotiations will proceed as planned.”

It was Chancellor Palpatine who, much to Padmé’s relief, broke the brief silence that followed her words. “Spoken like a true Jedi,” Palpatine said praisingly before turning to Yoda. “What do you say, Master Yoda? I, for one, would certainly breathe easier if I knew our people are in safe and capable hands of this fine young lady.”

Masters Yoda and Windu exchanged concerned glances. “Your Padawan, young Naberrie is,” Yoda finally said, his long ears twitching as he spoke. “Left to her Master, the final decision should be.”

Master Windu gave Padmé a piercing stare. It was impossible to tell whether he was disappointed or in awe of her actions. “I don’t like this,” he said sternly, “but I will accept it.”

“Most excellent,” Palpatine said as he turned to Mon Mothma. “And what does the head of the delegation say? Would you accept this young Jedi as your sole protector?”

“Certainly,” Mon Mothma said, offering Padmé a friendly smile. “We would be honored to have you.”

Padmé couldn’t stop herself from beaming. She could barely believe that what could easily have turned into an infinite source of embarrassment and lectures from Master Windu, had turned out to be her first solo mission, instead. It was almost too good to be true, to finally get a chance to prove her worth—and not just for her Jedi mentors but to herself, too. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so desperately eager to convince herself that she was still on the right path, but after her nightmares and her struggles to stay focused, she could hardly scold herself for needing some reassurance that she would still make a fine Jedi Knight, despite all her recent struggles.

At least Chancellor Palpatine seemed to believe in her. That had to count for something.

“Padawan,” Master Windu said with distinct emphasis that always made Padmé feel like she was a youngling again. “Before we part ways, I wish to speak with you. Alone.”

* * *

It was a warm and sunny day on Naboo, though no one could have guessed that by looking at the dark robes Vader was wearing. Any local would have melted under so many layers of heavy cloth, but he didn’t mind the warmth. On the contrary, he quite enjoyed it. Unlike the oppressive heat of Mustafar, the climate here was much more tolerable. Pleasant, even. Part of him wanted to take his hood off to feel the sunlight on his face, but there were a plethora of reasons for him to resist that urge. Firstly, he wasn’t supposed to risk his cover, and secondly, he was infuriatingly aware that he shouldn’t have cared about such simple pleasures as the distinct way sunlight felt on one’s skin. He wasn’t supposed to be that person anymore.

But if he wasn’t that person, then why was he hearing that blasted woman and her pained screams in his sleep? He hadn’t told his Master, but she had been plaguing his sleep every single night for the past couple of weeks. It was maddening. Who was that woman to him, anyway? Hadn’t she abandoned him, too? Hadn’t she allowed the Jedi to take her son away to a foreign world only to have him dumped off into an orphanage?

His fists clenched at his sides. _None of that matters anymore_ , he bitterly reminded himself. _She doesn’t matter. That pathetic desert worm, Anakin Skywalker, never mattered. All that matters now is the Jedi_. _They will die, every last one of them. I will see to it_. 

The Jedi were the sole reason for him to be here but also a convenient focus for the rage and resentment he had carried inside him from a young age. His hatred for the Jedi Order burned deep, only being eclipsed by his self-loathing. Even now, the memory of his miserable past crossing his mind stung him like a toxic dart. He could have brushed it off, as he usually did, but not today. Instead, he chose to refine his suffering into strength. It held no difference to him whether it was him or his enemies who were in pain, not as long he could feed on it and acquire more power through the process.

Soon, it would be the Jedi who would know pain.

He checked his chronometer. The Republic ship his Master had told him about was supposed to land at any moment now. All he had to do was wait, hidden from plain sight, and he would see the face of the unsuspecting fool who would soon become his first Jedi victim.

He hadn’t forgotten that the primary reason his Master had sent him here was to oversee some vastly insignificant negotiations Vader himself couldn’t have cared less, but it wasn’t like his Master was here to breathe down his neck. He would carry out his Master’s orders, as was expected of him, but in his heart, the only reason for him to be here was his bloodlust.

His vengeance. 

In the depths of his hood, his facial muscles twitched in anger. He knew he would soon need his senses at their sharpest, but there was that strange itch right under his skin that couldn’t be scratched and that constantly kept pushing him off balance. _Those damned nightmares_ , he thought. How was he supposed to ignore those screams when they only became louder and louder each night, so loud that he could hear them even now that he was awake?

He stretched his neck from side to side, feeling the discomfort in his rigid muscles easing. This wasn’t the time to dwell on his night terrors. His senses sharpened as he spotted a dozen Republic senators drifting out of the spaceport, pulling heavy suitcases behind them. _How kriffing long are these negotiations supposed to take?_

In their wake came two Jedi: the wretched Mace Windu and his apprentice. Vader was dying to catch a glimpse of his soon-to-be victim so he could have memorized her face and have something to revel in during the long and presumably boring negotiations, but her face remained hidden under her hood. _Pity_.

Shrouded in shadows, Vader observed the two Jedi from his hiding spot across the plaza. He briefly considered moving closer, but ultimately decided against it. He was no fool like Darth Maul. He wouldn’t repeat the Zabrak assassin’s mistakes and reveal himself until the moment was right. His teeth gritted, and his hand gripping firmly around the hilt of his lightsaber, he forced himself to stay right there where he was and watch.

The apprentice seemed eager to join the senators packing into the Trade Federation transport, but her Master grabbed her from her shoulder and stopped her. Oh, how tempted Vader was to allow them to sense him; to force them to grab their lightsabers and fight him right here and now, with all these witnesses around to perceive the weakness of the Jedi with their own eyes…

No. He had to remain patient. For now.

* * *

Master Windu’s expression was as stern as unyielding as ever. “The _Felicific_ will soon depart for Coruscant. From now on, you are on your own.” His voice didn’t betray any particular emotion. “I can feel your eagerness to explore, but don’t let the first impression fool you. Naboo may have its charms, but I sense a dark presence here. Had the Chancellor not insisted, I would take you back to Coruscant with me. It’s not safe here. Not for a Padawan.”

Padmé had to bite her tongue to keep herself from being too earnest with her objections. She knew her Master too well. One wrong word from her to be mistaken for arrogance and Master Windu might go against the Chancellor’s wishes and haul her back to Coruscant over his shoulder just to teach her yet another lesson about the thin line between healthy confidence and blinding arrogance. “You don’t have to worry about me, Master,” she said, managing a little smile. “I was trained by a Master of the Jedi Council and one of the greatest Jedi of his time. With his training, no obstacle is too great to overcome. I’m ready for this, I know it.”

“Stay close to the senators at all times, and do not wander,” Windu advised her, paying no heed to her vain attempt to humor him. “If something unusual happens, contact directly to the Council and wait for further instructions. Do not, and I repeat, do not act on your own.”

Padmé lowered her gaze. “Yes, Master.”

“You must go now,” Windu said, gesturing at the Trade Federation transport appointed to take the Republic delegation to Theed Royal Palace. “I will see you upon your return. Goodbye for now, and may the Force be with you.”

Padmé felt a brief squeeze on her shoulder, and her face lit up. “May the Force be with you too, Master.”

As she watched her Master's back disappear into the crowd, she couldn’t escape the ominous feeling that by the next time they saw each other again, everything would have changed forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, things are still a bit slow. But I promise that things will start happening in the next chapter!


	4. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations are vastly boring. Padmé and Vader will have to find ways to keep themselves... entertained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days, we'll get to the exciting bits. One of these days.

The sun was already high when Vader jerked awake from yet another nightmare at his lodging in the Trade Federation headquarters. His nerves were shaken and his head was pounding from tossing and turning in his bed for the better part of the night, chasing the sleep that stubbornly kept eluding him. He fumbled for his chrono and groaned upon the immediate realization that the negotiations his Master had been so pressed about were about to begin without him.

His mother’s screams still echoed at the back of his mind when he dragged himself up from the bed, mentally preparing himself for the role he was supposed to play. Lies and deception had always been the way of the Sith, but despite all his training under Sidious’s rigorous scrutiny, concealing his true self from others had never come as naturally to him as he would have liked. He wasn’t Sidious, and he most certainly didn’t share his fondness for unnecessarily complicated coups. On the contrary, he preferred to let his lightsaber do the talking, but for now, he had no other choice but to play by his Master’s rules.

He stared bleakly at his reflection in the large, ornate mirror on the wall and let out a frustrated sigh. As he raked his fingers through his unruly curls in a vain attempt to appear more like the nobleman he was supposed to pretend to be, he couldn’t help but notice that the sleep deprivation was already taking its toll. The dark circles around his eyes made him look older than his years, and even his skin had gone paler than usual, making him look sickly and unfocused. The sleek, obsidian-colored synthsilk robes Sidious had provided him with only made the contrast more striking. 

An ominous smile crossed his face as he clipped his lightsaber to his belt and made sure it remained well hidden under the several layers of expensive and, in his opinion, ridiculously lavish cloth. Pretending to know anything—or worse, care—about the political aspects regarding the negotiations would undoubtedly turn out to be tiresome, but at least his Master had promised him a sufficient reward for his troubles.

As long as he could remember, Vader had been longing for an opportunity to finally put his training and talent to a real test. Reducing training droids to scrap metal had lost its original appeal a long time ago, and even though he didn’t particularly expect a Padawan, of all things, to provide much of a challenge to him, the sheer anticipation of his first Jedi kill made his heart race faster and pumped adrenaline into his veins.

It pleased him a great deal that Sidious had given him free hands to deal with the Jedi as he saw fit. He would be damned if he wouldn’t make the most of it. Sidious had, of course, suggested him to proceed with caution, set a trap to lure the Jedi into her death, and frame one of the royal handmaidens for her murder to shift the blame onto Queen Jamillia and her court, thus undermining the relationship between Naboo and the Republic, but that wasn’t the way Vader operated. This was his mission, and it was going to be carried out his way. He wouldn’t have dreamed of wasting such a perfect opportunity to strike his first blow against the Order that had once rejected him by depriving the arrogant Master Windu of his precious apprentice.

So instead of slipping deadly poison in the Jedi’s drink like some cowardly politician might do, Vader desperately wanted this adversary of his to know that she had been bested by a Sith Lord, no less. He wanted to face her in combat, as it should be. He wanted to be the one to deal the killing blow and watch the life fading from her eyes as she would come to realize that much like the rest of her brethren, she, too, had been a failure.

It was then that R2-D2 gave a nervous beep, reminding him that his Master’s associates were expecting him at the Royal Palace. “I know, I know,” Vader groaned, fumbling with the silvery clasps of his cape. “Don’t worry, Artoo. We won’t be late.”

R2-D2 whistled skeptically, only for Vader to give a gentle pat on his droid’s domed head. The droid had attitude, all right, but Vader had no other friends. Sidious had once brought the damaged astromech to him to repair to keep him occupied throughout his long days alone in that dirty hovel back on Coruscant. The only other company he had ever had was Maul, who had only sought to either ridicule him or beat the kriff out of him under the disguise of training, until the day Vader had finally killed the Zabrak assassin in a ferocious duel and taken his rightful place as Sidious’s sole apprentice.

Sidious had often scolded him for his fondness a mere astromech droid, but Vader paid no heed to his Master’s objections nor harbored any plans of getting rid of his loyal companion. Hiding away at Sidious’s secret training facility on Mustafar like some common criminal was a lonely life. Without R2-D2, he was sure he would have lost his sanity a long time ago.

“You should know better than to doubt my skills in speeder piloting, shouldn’t you?” Vader chuckled as they strode side by side through the now empty halls of the Trade Federation headquarters.

* * *

The Trade Federation representatives were already gathered around the long conference table by the time Padmé followed Queen Jamillia, Senator Mothma, and the rest of the Republic delegation to the throne room where the negotiations were supposed to be held. One of the Trade Federation representatives, Senator Lott Dod, Padmé recalled seeing in the HoloNet news. The other Neimoidians were strangers to her, and not one of them looked particularly comfortable. She didn’t even have to peer into the Force to sense their growing nervousness. Why they were so agitated in the first place, Padmé couldn’t tell. There seemed to be no apparent reason for such tension. She had overheard Senator Mothma and the others discussing the direness of the situation earlier at breakfast. The Trade Federation was holding all the winning cards—and they knew it. It would surely prove challenging to the Republic delegates to prove their occupation illegal.

Some of the delegates had even voiced their doubts about their chances of liberating Naboo without shedding a single drop of blood, but Senator Mothma had remained adamant about her stance. According to her, it was about time that the Trade Federation faced justice. Padmé found her resolve nothing less than admirable.

She glanced at the Neimoidians, careful to retain a neutral expression, and reminded herself to stay vigilant. Master Windu had made it clear that the Trade Federation was not to be trusted. Only now, that the negotiations were just about to begin, she came to fully understand the great responsibility that had been bestowed upon her.

And for the first time since Master Windu had left her to her own devices, she felt it—a vicious sting of self-doubt, gnawing at her confidence. What if she wasn’t ready? What if something terrible would happen? What would she do?

Utilizing a refined, yet relatively simple technique Master Billaba had once taught her, Padmé closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, gently bringing her mind back to the present moment. She knew she was supposed to remain mindful of the future at all times, but never at the expense of the moment. If there were any threats or hidden plots to uncover, she couldn’t afford the endless possibilities of different futures to lead her astray. 

In order to not draw too much attention to her presence but to remain close enough to the delegates to interfere, if needed, she assumed her position behind the conference table, next to the enormous window that let the throne room bathe in sunlight. Although, as she had expected, her presence didn’t escape the notice of the Trade Federation representatives, who first glared at the lightsaber hanging from her sash, then immediately leaned their heads together and started whispering to each other, almost as if they had suddenly forgotten the entire battalion of battle droids, and maybe more, under their command. Padmé had no doubt the Trade Federation wouldn’t hesitate to resort to violence the moment they felt their lives threatened.

She couldn't help but to be grateful for the Senate appointing someone as courageous, but also level-headed as Senator Mothma as the head of the Republic delegation. Padmé trusted her to mind the risks the Trade Federation’s battle droids posed. There would be very little Padmé herself could do if they would decide to betray their mutual agreement of peaceful negotiations. A lone Jedi would be quickly overwhelmed by their numbers, but at least she might be able to buy the Republic delegates time to escape.

Even though she wasn't afraid to lay down her life for the sake of the Republic, she hoped it wouldn’t have to come to that.

One of the Trade Federation representatives was too upset to keep his voice down any longer. “A Jedi!” he protested, loud enough for Padmé to hear every word with her Force-attuned senses. “No one told us they were going to bring a Jedi!”

“We must delay the negotiations!”

“Calm down! We were promised protection,” Lott Dod said. “Where is Lord Vader?”

“Has anyone sent for Lord Vader?”

“Has anyone even _seen_ him?”

“Not since last night.”

Padmé raised an eyebrow. Now, there was something that piqued her curiosity. She didn’t have the slightest idea of who this Lord Vader was supposed to be or what his relationship with the Trade Federation was, though his name, as strange and unfamiliar and certainly not Neimoidian as it sounded, had a little ominous ring to it. _I have a bad feeling about this_. 

Senator Mothma cleared her throat. “Is there a problem?” Her tone was firm but not hostile. “Surely you understand that it would have been rather naïve of us to come here without any protection at all.”

One of the Neimoidians harrumphed. “We did not agree to this,” he snapped, pointing his bony finger at Padmé. “The Jedi cannot stay!” 

“I’m afraid I have to insist,” Senator Mothma said.

It was then that their blossoming argument was interrupted by the blast doors sliding open once more. Everyone in the room fell silent and turned their undivided attention to the aristocratic-looking young human man dressed in all black entering the room. _So, this must be the mysterious Lord Vader causing all this fuss_ , Padmé thought as she, too, observed the newcomer. He was much younger than she had expected, and certainly more pleasant to look at, she had to give him that, but there was something bizarre about him she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something that made her feel uncomfortable. 

“Allow me to apologize on behalf of my most inconsiderate associate, Senator,” Vader said as he casually stepped over to the table, his hands clasped behind his back. “We are, of course, honored to have a Jedi to join us.”

“Lord Vader,” Lott Dod managed, frowning nervously under his elaborate hat. “We have been expecting you. F-f-for quite some time, in fact. May I ask—?”

Vader stared the Neimoidian senator down. “Perhaps this isn’t the time and place, hmm?” His words rolled smoothly off his tongue, almost coming across as a mere suggestion, if it wasn’t for his icy tone indicating that he wasn’t interested in discussing his late arrival or providing even the flimsiest imaginable explanation for it. “We shouldn’t keep our guests waiting. Shall we begin?”

Senator Dod’s greenish skin turned gray. “Of c-c-course, my lord.”

Padmé curled her lip in disdain as Vader flung her an appraising glance before taking his seat next to Senator Dod. Aside from his apparent knack for making dramatic entrances, there was precious little else she could tell about him by simply observing him from across the room. Trying to figure out Vader felt almost as if she was trying to figure out a solid duracrete wall. His mind was like a fortress, without cracks for anything even remotely useful to seep out.

Reminding herself that there was nothing particularly unusual about a strong-willed individual, she allowed herself to calm down. She knew Master Windu wouldn’t have wanted her to follow her hunches blindly and jump into conclusions. Considering how very little common ground there was between the involved parties, the negotiations were expected to stretch over days. She would have plenty of time to find out who this Lord Vader truly was and why these Neimoidians, renowned of their obsession with etiquette and status throughout the galaxy, were bowing and scraping to someone so young and presumably inexperienced.

She watched Vader leisurely leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other, almost as if he was blissfully unaware that he was in the middle of important negotiations to settle the fate of an entire star system and not in some seedy cantina on the lower levels of Coruscant. _And overconfident_ , Padmé mentally added. _There’s something about him… that just doesn’t add up. If Master Windu was here to give me advice, he would suggest watching him closely_.

And watch she did. As the discussion went on, she noticed that for someone who supposedly had a vital role in the Trade Federation hierarchy, Vader didn’t partake in the conversation all that much. Occasionally, he leaned in and whispered something in Senator Dod’s ear, then leaned back and gracefully brushed a stray curl away from his face. But most of the time, he stared emptily into the distance, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else but here. _Why?_

The negotiating parties moved on to dispute the next pressing issue on the agenda, the tone of the discussion already getting way too heated for either party to show any particular interest in calling a lunch break. After some time, Padmé started finding it increasingly difficult to keep track of the tide of the debate, and soon, her thoughts started wandering. She found herself watching absent-mindedly as rays of golden afternoon light poured in through the window and reflected off the marble floor as the voices of the negotiators merged with one another in her mind and turned into a blur. 

In an attempt to retain what little there was left of her ability to concentrate, she dragged her gaze back to Vader. The sunlight lingered in his hair, too, giving it a tone of warm, honeyed gold. He had very beautiful hair. A little too tousled to truly match with the elegance of his clothes, but beautiful all the same. And his robes—oh, his robes had to be custom-made. How else could the synthsilk drape so smoothly over his broad shoulders?

Judging by his looks alone—his symmetrical features, high cheekbones, and sharp jawline—he certainly looked like a nobleman they all claimed him to be. And yet, she didn’t seem to be able to figure out why he was there. A heavily armed mercenary or a hired gun might have made some sense, as the Trade Federation was known to occasionally rely on outside protection, but a finely dressed, unarmed nobleman? What in the stars could have been the reason for someone like him being involved?

It was then that she was jerked back to the present by the sudden realization that her observations hadn’t gone unnoticed. Instead of staring apathetically into the distance as he did before, Vader now stared straight into her eyes. The sheer, unexpected intensity of his gaze took her by surprise, and she turned away, uncomfortably aware of the warmth creeping up her cheeks as she came to realize that this probably wasn’t what Master Windu had meant by advising her to be mindful of her surroundings. 

How long had he been staring at her?

And, more embarrassingly, how long had _she_ been staring at _him_?

* * *

Acknowledging that he was only doing the bare minimum to keep the Federation cowards from bucking under the thinly-veiled threats of legal consequences Senator Mothma and the rest of her lot kept bombarding them with, Vader cursed his Master for giving him such a tedious task. His mind preoccupied with his night terrors and his thrilling anticipation for what was to come, he simply couldn’t be bothered to even pretend to be interested. None of this political nonsense mattered to him, and he failed to understand why it should have.

Reaching out to the Force, he let his anger feed off his growing frustration and impatience. Senator Mothma’s unfaltering resolve frightened Senator Dod and his subordinates. The Force was all but dripping with their fear and anxiety. Reluctantly, Vader leaned in to remind the stuttering idiot of a senator of the most unpleasant consequences awaiting those who were foolish enough to fail to meet Darth Sidious’s expectations.

Had Vader been the master and not the apprentice, he wouldn’t have tolerated this level of incompetence from his subordinates. It was ridiculous. If this planet was so kriffing important to Sidious’s plans, then why did he insist on relying on these Neimoidian fools and wasting time with orchestrating negotiations, when he could just as well have taken the planet by force? Contrary to what Sidious might think, Vader hadn’t spent all his spare time at the Mustafar training facility devastating training droids and putting them back together. He was no stranger to Sith history. The ancient Sith had favored conquest, not compromising. They had lived and breathed war, instead of tiptoeing around it. _Peace is a lie_ , Vader mentally recited. _There is only passion_. 

One of these days, he would demand an explanation from his Master—but for now, it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the Jedi.

Sidious hadn’t told him anything more about her than that she was Master Windu’s apprentice. It occurred to Vader that he didn’t even know her name, but then again, names rarely mattered, either. Why bother to learn a name that would so soon be forgotten? She and Anakin Skywalker had that much in common. Much like that pathetic slave boy, she, too, would soon be nothing but a fading memory.

He found himself wondering whether or not killing the Jedi would give him the edge he needed to finally obliterate the last lingering remnants of the boy he had once been and take away the wretched nightmare haunting him in his sleep.

Leaning on his elbow, he allowed his attention to shift to her. Much to his dismay, not even his burning hatred for her and her kind prevented him from noticing how strikingly beautiful she was. Had he not known better, he might have mistaken her for an angel from the distant moons of Iego. He had never encountered one—how could he have when his Master barely ever allowed him to leave Mustafar?—but, all of a sudden, he was fairly certain that if angels truly existed, they must have looked just like her.

There was something mesmerizing about the way sunlight pouring in through the window behind her made a halo around her head. She didn’t seem to notice, though. Lost in thought and blissfully unaware of her surroundings, she unknowingly allowed him to study her. There was something about her… Perhaps it was the unconscious way she twirled that ridiculous braid around her finger, or perhaps…

Then, their gazes met, and for a split second there, he almost regretted that she would have to die. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mace would be so proud. Or maybe not. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
